"Gorbachev...tear down that wall!" "Trump...build it back up"?

Take a look at these pictures. One picture represents those that wish to belong to our country get that dream taken away by one man's decision to not allow those that supposedly pose a threat to our nation to be here. The second picture depicts what I wish our world was like. I understand, not everything is black and white. There's a concern of a repeat of September 11th, 2001, there's a concern of an illegal smuggling of drugs, there's always going to be a threat of something bad happening. However, does that mean a WHOLE COUNTRY is going to be responsible for something bad happening? No. It takes one person to make that one decision to blow up a building. It takes one person to decide to use nuclear bombs or to use a hand-held weapon. But, that doesn't mean everybody from different countries is a terrorist. That's what pisses me off about a ban like this. You can choose to think however you want; you can take my words with a grain of salt. I admit, I'm so naive and don't understand all the world issues out there. What I do understand, what doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand....L-O-V-E. Love is universal. Love is something anyone can understand. Let's show more of that. Just by saying, "I accept you. I welcome you. I love you." Boy, as Mr Armstrong once said, "Oh, what a wonderful world."

Why Spend So Much Time Trying To Fit In...

So, when you live in certain places, certain cities or states, you find yourself being automatically put into a crowd or surrounded by certain types of people. I never really considered myself a true follower, although one of the very BANES of my existence has been my bad habit of pleasing people. From the first day of college, I was inserted into a world of vanity. People I lived with and went to church looked like they had just stepped out of People magazine. My second apt was not as bad, but I was in a bad place myself, so I didn't necessarily care about fitting in. I cared about shutting people out. My third apt was basically like the first one. I had made some friends here and there, but the whole time, I wanted to wear high heels, the latest fashions, the brightest colors, wear makeup every day, wear my hair in the latest trends. Now, I care about a different type of fitting in. I want to be the best girl I can be so a guy can look and me and want to date, marry and fall madly in love with me. A friend of mine recently said, "Forget him. You don't need to have people in your life who don't make you feel like you're loved or lovable. YOU need to feel like you're loved and lovable. You need to make yourself feel that way." How?! How do you become your VERY best self that you end up falling in love with yourself? I constantly look at my body or my leg braces and think..."Ugh". I look like a messed up little girl with big breasts. I feel so messed up inside. This journey of self-discovery and self-love is one of the HARDEST things to endure. You only have one body, one mind, right? We've all heard that lecture. It's up to you to make the best of it, blah blah blah. I want to look at myself in the mirror and say, "Hello, gorgeous. I love you." Work in progress, I guess.

There's No Business Like Show Business...

Being a performer has been the highlight of my life since I was very young. Growing up in a musical family, it's just "in my blood", as the old saying goes. I've been playing piano since age 6, singing since at 11, performing professionally since age 12, and was even a band geek for a short period of time. Everybody knew the "Bestor" name. However, no matter whose family you belong to, there's always that one event you hate that's involved in show biz. AUDITION. Auditioning for a talent show, play, musical, TV show, etc. We all have to do it, no matter who you are. Then, there's that other word: Favoritism. If you build a rapport with a director or someone in a higher position, they tend to choose who they're familiar with for a certain part or show. I have been in 5 of this amazing man's shows who has become a legend in Orem, Utah. He's also a lifelong friend and practically family member of the guy you see on the far left. Jerry Elison has been a part of my dad's life since he was 12 years old. He put my dad in several of his shows, not always in a lead part, but my dad did have some speaking parts. Jerry even has a son named after him! You can pretty much guess the shoes I've had to fill. As a performer, you want to progress and spread your wings by working with other directors. So, I've tried to audition for other directors and shows. However, I've been shot down every time except for Jerry's shows.
Now, you can say, "Maybe you just weren't right for the show". That's a notorious explanation for those who audition and feel like they've failed. However, add the fact that you automatically go to your head that you're "living in your family's shadow". How can I live up to my parents' excellent performing and endless accomplishments? How can I develop the repertoire that my parents have set before me? Now, I don't necessarily HAVE to live up to their expectations, but music is something I love. Sometimes, I wish I wasn't "Kurt Bestor's daughter", but I also wish I wasn't "Melodie Bestor's daughter": someone who can play any piece on the piano, memorize any piece, has perfect pitch, can sightread any piece of music, and could very well be accepted to somewhere like Julliard. I want to shine for MY talent. I have a nice voice; not an amazing voice. But, I also don't "look" like a performer. High heels, fashionable clothes, skinny, perky personality, and a "look at me" demeanor. I want to touch people with my voice. I want people to react, whether that be by tears, a smile, a standing ovation (ok, not really, but that's always nice haha). I want performing to be a gift you share with someone to bless THEM as much as yourself.

Who could love me?

I just endured a long journey in healing a broken femur-the biggest bone in your leg that is hard to heal. I'm still in recovery, but after a stupid accident on my part, my angelic mother took me to the hospital, holding my hand and crying the entire time, fearing the worst-that I wouldn't be able to walk again. Those of you that know about my family would probably think, "Well, your sister doesn't walk and she's fine". Yes, indeed, we would be prepared in case I wasn't able to walk again. But, the stress would be quite heavy, I promise you. Well, as luck would have it, it was a severe break in my right leg, but the type of break I had is actually the easiest to heal, so I'm told. But, not before I endured a week in the main hospital resting followed by 2 grueling weeks of physical and occupational therapy.

Shockingly, the pain in my leg wasn't the worst part. It was not being able to shower for awhile, having nurses, some who were my age or younger, sticking a catheter in me (I know, gross) being pricked with needles for blood, a shot that prevented blood clots that was inserted into my stomach and nurses waking me up at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning just to give me thousands of pills or to check if I was still breathing and pumping blood. You'd think a hospital would let you sleep?! When I was finally discharged, one of the first things I asked my mom was, "Will anyone ever love me?" Not just love me in general. I mean, a guy. I haven't had one relationship in my entire life. I've been on a few dates (most I can count on one hand), but I haven't had anybody who I can call my first "boyfriend", I've never experienced a breakup (Yes, some of you might call that a good thing) and I've never truly learned what I really want in a relationship because I've never experienced what I don't want. It's true, I don't want just something physical/sexual, but I want an emotional connection. However, I've experienced the pain that can come from acting out physically and sexually without the emotional component. However, it's also painful abstaining from it, without experiencing the emotional component. I've never had that fireworks, looking deep into someone's eyes and saying, "I love you."

Living in Utah where everyone gets married at a VERY young age, it's been quite torturous to go on Facebook and constantly receive wedding invitation after wedding invitation. Some people tell me, "you're lucky to be single, cause you can do whatever you want by yourself." Yes, that's nice for awhile, but I would like to know what it feels like to have a guy call me "beautiful", "smart", to have someone other than my grandma saying "I love you." I want to know what it's like to receive flowers when I have a bad day, a text saying that I'm the most important person in the world to him. If I asked somebody, "would you date someone with a disability?", what do you think the answer would be? I went out with someone that had cerebral palsy. We only went on one date, but I had a good time. It didn't matter at all that he was different. We're all different. I wish labels didn't exist. The world is a better place without them.

Two Roads Diverged In A Yellow Road...Which Do I Choose?

The next few posts are going to be very hard for me to talk about. I never thought my life could diverge onto one of the hardest roads I have ever walked. The previous post mentions the pain I experienced during my parents' divorce. Starting at age 11-12, my world was rocked, we know that already. The absence of my dad, the lack of affection coming from my mom were strong triggers to what started a very painful sexual addiction. If you don't wish to read some of these words, I completely understand. Not everybody understands an addiction like this. There are still some people even in the psychiatric community, who don't believe sexual addiction is indeed an addiction. I could go into the scientific facts as to how sex and acts involving sexual things affect the brain, but I'll spare you. I can't exactly pinpoint when it was that my experimenting happened, but I started masturbating late at night, even acting out with my stuffed animals, pretending they were people. I never looked at pornography until I was in college.

I would masturbate on a regular basis in high school and listen to music with sexual innuendos. But, my real pain started in 2009. I was 21, in the middle of college, I never had a boyfriend in high school, I was never popular, I hardly went on any dates. Fitting in has never been my forte. I was involved in choir and theater, always eating with the "drama geeks". In 2006, I graduated from high school, but the year before, I became acquainted with a guy my sister went to high school with and who, ironically, was the brother-in-law of my best friend's sister. John was charming; talented; handsome; affectionate. He performed with my A Cappella choir a couple of times, I went to family activities when he was there. I befriended him on Facebook. I talked to him on FB chat a time or two. Everything was going great. I even went to see him at Tuacahn, an amphitheatre in St George in a couple of shows. Everything changed in 2009 when my best friend told me he came out of the closet to his family. Even some of my family members who knew him questioned his sexuality. I've never had the best "gaydar". What really hurt me was, after emailing him over and over and over, he complained to his family, calling me a "stalker". I ripped up his CD he gave me, pictures I had of him and buried myself in the closet in tears. I would act out scenes in my head with him and I, often being romantic.

I started skipping school, coming home and barricading myself in my room. Being somewhat curious as to what would make a gay lifestyle so appealing, I went on YouTube and found myself looking at gay porn. Being an affectionate person already, I found the feeling of kissing, even if they were both the same gender, attractive. But, being frightened at the same time, I phoned my sister who tried to talk me out of looking at any more on the computer-it didn't work. I would look at the same images/videos. My mom, having owned my computer and had the ability to see the websites I looked at, soon learned of my struggle and arranged for me to go to therapy. I went to at least 3 therapists before going to one I stuck with for a number of years. I attended a Womens group, where women were in similar situations like mine. I learned about a website called Craigslist. You may think that website only contains job postings, people selling furniture, etc. But, there were also want ads for sex or sexual activities. Being so deep in the addiction, I decided to check it out. I soon found myself meeting guys from anywhere to a cemetery in my car, in a tent up in the mountains, in various guys' apts, my apt, parking lots, anywhere we could get privacy. I let guys explore my body, make me feel aroused for a number of hours; from the outside looking in, people would say I came so close to being killed. Raped. The scariest part? It didn't compare to the pain I'd experienced at the hands of my family. I almost didn't care.

This meeting with guys went on for at least 7 years, off and on. I attended church, but saw Bishop after Bishop after Bishop, wanting at times to repent. Nothing worked. Here I am, still looking at pornography, having a better idea of how empty it makes me feel. I'm still attending therapy, also using yoga as a way of coping. Addiction cannot be overcome. Only managed. I still feel alone, but have more of an understanding of how addiction affects me. This is not the road I want to take. Two roads diverged. Which do I choose? I still don't know. But, I definitely want to take myself out of the darkness.

I Can't Get No Damn Satisfaction

Imagine growing up in a place where everything is set for you. You get baptized at age 8, you can start dating and driving when you're 16, you're old enough to vote at 18, you serve a mission when you're 19 or 21, you need to get certain health tests done by at least 40. It seems like everything has an age. Well, I was baptized at age 8, got my license at 16, graduated high school at 18. Then, it seems like everything just sort of changed. That's what life contains; change. I graduated from college at age 24, have never been in a relationship and have lived with my mom for 7 years. I'm 31 years old now. Sad, right? Maybe not to other people; like my mom. The one who was pregnant with me for 9 months. The one that was responsible for me for 18 years. Well, her time is up. She doesn't think so. She's what I would call a "helicopter parent". She still sees and manages some of my finances, pays for my cell phone and computer, she FINALLY let me pitch in to help her pay for my car. I don't have a career, but I have a full-time job; a job where I sit for 8 hours, scanning papers. The papers represent my life, going in and out, in and out; monotonous, nothing interesting, repetitive. Where in the Parenting Manual does it say you have to coddle your children? My sister and I were never taught how to cook, sew, we were taught how to clean. We were never taught how to buy a car, a house; my mom taught me how to balance my checkbook, but it was more like a "do it my way or no way" sort of situation. Lovely, right?

How would I manage if my mom died tomorrow? I would die, too. We're not talking like she's still breastfeeding me, but the word "spoon-feeding" still comes to mind. She say she has faith in me. Do you see any evidence of that in the previous paragraph? What is she waiting for? What am I waiting for? I need a little help, a little guidance. NOT CONTROL. This is where kids who smoke, get tattoos, drop out of school; this is where they come from. Too much control. Worse is, she never tells me I'm pretty, intelligent, nothing positive. SHE'S the one who needs help. Do I wish I had different parents? You betcha. People who actually give a damn. Parents who check in with me, spend quality time with me, tell me they love me just because, brag about the wonderful children that they've raised, and not just talk about how "amazing" or "heroic" they are just because they're disabled and have "beaten the odds". Really? Are there no other qualities you love about me? Where do I go from here? I just wanna run and never look back. I wanna pack my bags, my parents come home, and I'm gone, without a trace. No phone calls, nothing.

Families Can Be Together Forever...just not on Earth

What is taught as the "normal" family? Mom, Dad, sister, brother, pet. We're taught that there can be all sorts of different families; single-parent, grandparents as parents, foster parents, aunts or uncles as parents, the list goes on and on. When you're born, do you get to choose them? No. My parents, Kurt and Melodie, were married Dec 27 1979 in Oakland, California. My dad was born in Waukesha, Wisconsin, while my mom was born in Chico, California. They met at Brigham Young University, the most popular and well-known school in Provo, Utah and met while touring together for the infamous music group, the Young Ambassadors. My mom played piano while my dad was asked to play trumpet. What was my mom's first impression of my dad? He was a complete flirt. Nice smile, good-looking hair, outgoing personality, intelligent, athletic, etc. What was my mom like? Over-achiever, confident, hard-working, intelligent and reserved.
I've never gotten a true answer as to what made them fall in love, but my mom, being raised LDS, was determined to marry an RM, or a returned missionary. My dad, raised Catholic, became a member at age 18. He was determined to win my mom's heart, so he served a 2-year mission to the former Yugoslovia for 2 years. They married when he returned, my mom having graduated and on to teach English while my dad was preparing for his music career. My mom didn't look physically like she does today. She struggled with her weight, but luckily, she had my dad, an avid swimmer, by her side to help her. Both of my parents come from 4 children families, both of them being the oldest. They come from high-achieving families, with my mom's family excelling in school while my dad's family excelled in pretty much everything. They moved to Orem when my dad was around 8. When my grandpa was a swimming coach at BYU, he quickly gained the notoriety he has today. Everywhere I go, I'm asked, "Are you related to...." and Bestor usually follows. I nicknamed them the "Kennedys of Orem".
We were the Bestors. Melodie, Kurt, Kristin and Erika. We were raised in a regular suburban neighborhood in the riverbottoms of Provo, with our beautiful house and a deck overlooking the Provo river. We were loved by everyone in our ward, my dad was quickly gaining popularity as a well-known composer, primarily in the LDS church. All of that changed in October 1999, when my dad came into our family room and started explaining why he had been gone so much. "Your mom and I have decided to divorce." Some of the worst words an 11 year old could hear. 11. Not 13, not 5, but 11. In the middle. Not a teenager yet. I wasn't even going through my worst years when I was going through one of the worst moments of my life. My sister, age 18, was almost in college at this point. She had gone through her teenage drama, with my parents by her side. What was left for me? Pretty soon, my dad was gone. Not out of the state, mind you, but out of the house; away from me. Visitations started happening, promises of making it to a lunch or dinner being broken. My dad still had a website with a comments board on it. Imagine what comments were written by the small amount of fans who knew. Infidelity, lies, secrets all started pouring out. Our "FHE" or Family Home Evenings soon consisted of "talking about Dad". This man I thought I knew, but was way off. But, things started making sense; his behavior when we read scriptures, which was, quite frankly, flippant and comical. His lack of attention to my mom. My vivid memory of a family vacation to Idaho Falls, sitting in our hotel room, hearing my mom crying in the other room. Trying to practice the piano, hearing the same arguing in my dad's den. It all pieced together.
My mom, Kristin and I moved to a smaller, one might say "ghetto" neighborhood in downtown Provo while my dad moved to Salt Lake. That was when I was introduced to the word "stepmom". You know Cinderella, right? Well, it wasn't THAT bad. Holli had 2 daughters from her first marriage. I got to be a big sister, albeit stepsister. I enjoyed being with little Hannah and Abbi. Little did I know what a horrible arrangement that marriage was. Only 7 months did it last; pretty soon, I was put into a "he said she said" war. Insults after insults started coming, mostly from her. A newspaper article in 2001 even came out, somewhat exposing my dad's inner demons. His parents, my former stepmom and even my mom were asked to comment. Who do you think was the nice one? The wife who just barely got left or the one he had spent 20 years and had 2 children with? Yep, you guessed it. My mom was amazing, raving about his talents, his infectious personality; not mentioning the years of pain he had subjected her to. It took overwhelming amounts of prayer and thought, mind you. But, she did it. Granted, the divorce could've been much worse. Money could've been involved, physical or sexual abuse could've taken place. That should make this all a good thing, right?
My dad went from living from loft to apt in Salt Lake City, pretty soon meeting his current wife. My second stepmom. I should be used to this routine now, right? But, the garments were off, an earring was placed, and a whole new Kurt Bestor emerged. Yes, I'm being over-dramatic; but who, do you ask, would work with someone who didn't believe in divorce, had the gift of the Holy Spirit, as we call it, in him, and yet did all of these things he was taught never to do? Nobody. Pretty soon, my dad was, shall we say, "abandoned" by some people who worked with and looked up to him. Why? Because of his religious beliefs, or lack thereof. How did I feel? His daughter? His flesh and blood? Torn. Devastated. Angry. I soon found out my current stepmother was not LDS at all. I wasn't 100%, as we say, "Molly Mormon", but I was pretty shocked. Little did I know they had actually met in the early 80's while Petrina was working for a man we all know as Robert Redford, she being from Kenya and being his cultural consultant for one of his films. Had they hooked up earlier, what would've happened, I wonder?
I had hoped that was the end of my pain and I could finally settle and accept my dad's life for what it was. But, in 2009, there was a surprise I didn't see coming. As I took a break from work, my cell phone rang and my dad asked me the following: "What is the craziest thing your dad could ever do?" Boy, was that a long list! Being taken back by this question, I immediately replied, "Get a tattoo?" Nope. I paused and said, "Petrina's pregnant?" What followed? Laughter. Was I humorously shocked? No. I was legitimately shocked. Memories flooded back to 6 years before, when they were engaged. "Dad, will you and Petrina ever have children?" "No," he replied. "Petrina has her cats (she had 3 at the time) and I have you and Kristin". Was I wearing earplugs when I heard that? Did I not hear him right? Pretty soon, I didn't have a stepsister. I had a half-sister. Half of my dad. She has one half and I have the other half. I immediately went into "little girl" mode. "I want to be his little girl. He called me Shmerika and squeezed my cheeks." The tears started coming and wouldn't stop. Do I love Ella? Sure. But, she didn't have herself. She didn't spend thousands of dollars to have herself through in vitro fertilization. Now, I'm faced with my dad going on family vacations-camping, Kenyan safaris-all without me. Yes, it's been 17 years since the divorce. Yes, my dad has been married to Petrina for 13 years now. Years don't make a difference. Time heals all wounds? Not in this case. Perhaps it would be different if my dad wasn't in the public eye. Perhaps it would be different if Petrina wasn't so highly praised by my dad in the public eye. Perhaps it would be different if my dad had a little bit more humble attitude and realized how I truly feel. Perhaps. Maybe not. Maybe never.